I have 59 stories published in
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I imagine Kafka after the night-shift In the Workers' Accident Insurance Institution Slouching home through the cobbled streets, Haunted by numbers. So it was no surprise one winter’s eve
There’s violence lurking in the breakfast things. Forced to feed in the company of strangers - no-one fits their mug-shots yet - sore bears kicked from slumber snarl
The men stood either side of each other, thick gloves clutching four corners of thin air. It seemed strange that nothing could be such a weighty matter,
And even now, after so many years, so many coats of institutional whitewash, the corridors still smell of rage. The last thing I remember; running like hell on the last day, trailing
He told me how he lay awake at night to catch shooting stars on his tongue, and washed by waiting till it rained. How once he’d taught a hen to tell the truth, then faked the eggs